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10/21/16
8:07pm
Ideas flash through my head all day.
I have wants. I want to write about my man. A love letter of my man.
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I want a son with dark hair like my man and to be like my man.
I love writing the word man and all that it means.
For me it is darkness. Enveloped in the night facing the darkness. What I already know but deeper, more inside. Hidden but known. Light scratches are enough to bring it forth. This is what it is for me as a woman.
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My man has strong arms. Hands that grip tightly and can crush. Or protect.
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I learn about protection here. There is more; too much to say about protection.
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My father had strong, gripping, protective hands. They felt healing and safe. Will my daughters know this in my man’s hands?
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My mother said the man you choose creates your legacy, that you will leave the world through your children. Is this man the legacy you choose to create?
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A legacy of gripping hands and strong arms. Dark hair and fierce eyes. A square jaw. Strength.
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I think things about my man that I learn are not true everyday. I learn different meanings for curiosity and wisdom. For what it looks like in the world to love me. …It is an idea I’d never thought to have before…
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My man ties me to my Woman In The World.
My man has hands that hold that. I don’t want to have hands to hold that. But they are necessary. And I must love them.
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I could disappear into the wells of what lies in my man’s chest. But he would never allow my disappearance to begin.
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He looks at me with the force of everything that ever was, rising and dying, swirling, erupting and triumphing in his eyes on me.
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I am humbled. Destroyed. And I rise. There as I look into his eyes. And then in my own, gazing upon my face after he has left the room. I am the Almighty. Right there in the room still filled his essence mixed with mine.
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